“There’s a fine line between friends and enemies,” Padair explained.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Augustus fought against cedar branches and thorn bushes.

“One helps you, the other hinders you, but they both define you,” the satyr said. His bushy brows furrowed deeply as he pushed through the thicket.

“My instructor never told me satyrs could be so profound, my friend,” Gus said. “I suppose you have plenty of time to ponder during your journeys. Have you ever spoken with philosophers? I imagine a well-traversed satyr would meet a few between here and there.” He discovered it was best to ask the questions, lest he lay bare to an onslaught of questions himself.

“I’ve met many philosophers, but never agreed with any of them. They always try to turn their answers into questions–horrible people to converse with.” The satyr’s furry legs shuffled through brush and briars. Gus’ legs were weak and wobbly. Thorns clutched at his clothes. “I met one named Aristata. He was a philosopher from Antacina, who moved to Alexandria at the behest of King Argus III. Now, there was an infuriating creature.”

I can name another infuriating creature, Augustus pondered. Days lost in the wilderness with the goat man left Gus tired of stories, tired of questions, and tired of the satyr.

“Aristata, the dimwit, tried to convince me that humans are superior to satyrs, but it is simply not true! There is–”

“Which way is the Western Road?”

“It’s just ahead,” the satyr said. The evergreens grew thick, but the floor of the wood was thicker–overgrown with brambly bushes. Padair moved through them with ease. His thick hide never felt the fur pulling free.

Gus sighed. He fought off the prickly arm of a cedar. The sweet scent of sap permeated. Fighting uphill, they crested a knoll, crowned with a ring of trees, and overlooking a splendid valley. “The Golden Valley." He took a seat amongst twigs, leaves, and needles. The wood fell west into the valley, where fields of grass cleared away the trees, the hills, and the rocks. The Western Road cut gray through the valley.

“And then Gold Hill, unfortunately,” Padair said.

Augustus shook his head. “I could use a proper bed.” He stretched out on the cold hard ground, though tree-born discards offered some softness.

“You’re resting already?” Padair asked.

“I am resting, yes. And I am never taking directions from you again." A chilly breeze licked his sweat-lathed skin.

“That’s what you said last time,” Padair reminded.

Gus sighed.

They broke through the tree line before midday and were back on the Western Road by noon. Worn cobbles felt good beneath his feet. The Lord of Gold Hill keeps his trade routes secure, Gus mused. With no shade, the sun burned hot. Out in the open, Gus felt vulnerable. He felt eyes hiding in the nearby woods, peering across the field, watching his every move. The pair marched along silently. Gus glanced at Padair occasionally, but the goat man said nothing. First, he longed for the road. Now, he longed for thickets and their shadows. “If I keep marching through the evening, and rest tonight, I should reach Gold Hill by noon the next day,” Gus said, distracting himself from the discomfort.

“I suppose I will depart that morning,” Padair said.

“Okay,” Gus said. No questions?

The goat man plodded along, swinging his head from side to side.

“Are you okay?” Augustus asked.

“That’s not what you want to know.” The satyr spoke over his shoulder.

“You feel like something is watching us, too?” Gus asked.

“Something is watching us.” Padair turned his eyes back to the road. “Keep your eyes open, Gus. There are pixies about.”

“Pixies?” Gus asked. He cast his eyes down on the road. “Aren’t they just children’s fables?”

“If you wonder late at night, avoid the pale blue light,” Padair said. “Pixies are as real as any creature. Their radiance is simply spore clouds, like a flower or a shroom, and those spores are what burn so beautifully. Their toxic, friend.” Padair shuttered. “First, it causes you to lose your memory, then it befuddles the mind, and that's when the pixies strike, draining their victim's dry.”

“Draining you dry?” Gus inquired.

“Of your life essence. We should sleep in a cave tonight. Pixies hate caves. That’s where the name comes from, you know? When pixies were plentiful, other animals would pluck them straight from low-hanging ceilings and eat them. That drove them to the forests and the tallest trees.”

“I see,” Gus replied. I suppose a satyr would know more about pixies than I would. Many people don’t believe in satyrs, either. And everything I’ve read about the satyrs was exaggerated or wrong. Gus would be cautious, whether he believed in pixies or not. “Is there a way to fight them–to defend ourselves?”

Padair huffed. “They die like any other creature, but I would prefer if you let me reason with them first.”

“You can reason with pixies?” Gus asked.

“Yeah–I can.” Padair didn’t look too sure of himself.

The road led them into a wooded area where hills pressed in from the north and south. The valley narrowed. The road was uneven, but the ripples were pebbles compared to the hills rising around them. Evening shadows painted the forest. No birds sang. No squirrels leaped from tree branch to tree branch. The forest was still and silent until a soft voice cut through the air:

“Oh, Lilly of the Water,

“So fair, so fair,

“So far from home,

“So rare, so rare!”

Gus stopped. “Did you hear that?”

“Me and every pixie in the country,” Padair said. “It sounds like a woman.”

“In a field full of oxen,

“Just there, just there,

“Lilly of the Water,

“My fair, my fair!”

Wait… The voice was familiar to Gus. “I know that voice,” he mused aloud. Gus trotted up the road, following the voice.

“Oh, Lilly of the water,

“So fair, so fair,

The song grew louder.

“You don’t belong,

“Down there, down–”

Gus turned a bend. The singing stopped.

Further along the road, off to the side, in a small clearing, he saw a large wagon painted red. Golden letters decorated its side: “The Moonlit Mysterium.” A large red canopy roofed the wagon. Their roaring fire released a pillar of billowing smoke that coated the forest's canopy gray and black. A bald dwarf shuffled about the camp, breaking dead branches and piling firewood. Hooves clapped against cobbles. “There’s only one thing pixies hate more than caves–and that’s fire!”

Gus searched the woods, fearing an ambush by pixies–or others.

“We should warn them,” Padair said.

“I suppose,” Gus agreed.

Augustus ran down the road. Padair followed. A wind stirred in the magical seams of his cloak, tugging him along ever so slightly, lending him speed. As they neared, the mostly bald dwarf threw down an armload of firewood. He eyed the approaching duo of man and satyr with a quizzical look. Gus held his hands high. His cloak was open, revealing the weapons at his side. “Hail, friend!”

“You came quickly!” the dwarf shouted back. “What do you want?”

Gus looked at Padair. “You tell him.” The goat man marched toward the dwarf and his encampment. Eyeing the wagon, Gus realized a wheel was busted.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Padair sighed. “Your fire is a danger to you.”

“My fire?” the dwarf’s brows furrowed into a gray hedge. “Igni curse you, creature!”

Gus shook his head. “There are pixies about!”

The dwarf shot Gus a glare. “Oh, pixies?” The dwarf laughed.

“It’s true!” Padair exclaimed.

“First you insult my fire, then you insult my intelligence! And yet, you say you come in peace?” The dwarf chuckled. “Now that I’ve seen through your little performance, what do you want? And let me warn you–there are more of me than there are of you–and they’re waiting in those woods with crossbows ready to shoot.”

Gus studied the broken-down wagon. The others probably went to find a replacement wheel. Then, he recalled the singer. She, however, is still out there.

“We just came to warn you,” Padair offered.

“That’s it!” Gus agreed. “And now, you have been warned. Come on, friend.” Augustus walked up to Padair and placed a hand on his furry shoulder.

Padair nodded. “Yes, you've been warned. Now it is up to you to decide your fate, dwarf.”

The balding dwarf studied them. “Then be off with you!”

Gus headed West, deeper into the woodlands, leaving the dwarf and his camp behind. Darkness overtook the land beneath the trees. He kept cautious eyes on the woods, but the singer never made an appearance.

“Why did we hurry off?” Padair asked.

“We warned him.” Gus kept his eyes on the road.

“We could have camped with him,” Padair suggested.

“Nonsense. I have a place in mind. And it’s sure to turn away those pixies.” Gus scanned the hills to the north of the road. “There is a tower nearby–an abandoned outpost.”

“It sounds close enough to a cave for me,” Padair responded.

Another quarter mile down the Western Road brought them to a path running up and across the ridgeline of a northern hill. Stones once littered the path but washed away long ago. West Watch stood at the zenith of a rocky knoll, spotted with cedars. The roof collapsed centuries earlier, but it once stood as four stories of stone block, overlooking the Valley of Gold, and maintaining vigilance over the Western Road. Now, only two stories remained. An arched doorway stood unattended. The wood rotted away, only rusted hinges and crumbling mortar remained.

Padair stopped before the tower. “I don’t like this place, friend.”

“I don’t either.” Gus walked up a weathered stair, picking his steps carefully, and into the ruined tower. It was as dark as a cave–and damp. “And neither will pixies.”

Padair crept up the steps. He paused in the doorway. “Dark memories linger in this place.”

Gus chuckled. Don’t I know it? He looked around the abandoned interior. Broken blocks and dusty debris littered the floor. There was only a single room–big and square. It was exactly as it was the last time he passed through, as a child.

“You believe me when I tell you there are pixies in the forest, but you don’t believe me now?” Padair questioned.

“Can the memories hurt us?” Gus asked.

Padair studied him. He threw his furry arms into the air. “Do as you will, friend!”

Gus smiled. He threw down his bedding and lay his weapons on the ground beside it–save his dagger, which would remain clutched to his chest.

“Well, I’ll be sleeping outside if you need me,” Padair said. “Maybe I’ll find a log or something.”

“I could do without the smell of goat,” Gus said.

The satyr stalked off into the night. Gus sank into the hard stone and closed his eyes, but sleep proved hard won. She must have sensed us coming. He thought of the singer. How did Padair sense the pixies? Did he hear them, smell them, see them? Elves and satyrs are mystical beings. Perhaps the Court Mage was right and their heightened senses come from more animalistic faculties? But what of their magical faculties? Alatar was a learned man, but his time reading books left him blind to many realities. Augustus rolled to his side. A rock dug into his rib. He grunted, dug the rock from beneath his bedroll, and threw it across the empty chamber. The motion brought back a memory of the singer’s dagger flashing through the dark, whizzing by his head. She was trained to fight, too. I would’ve been killed If I hadn’t had my magic cloak.

Gus chewed on that thought. Who taught her how to kill? He certainly remembered who taught him. Augustus sat up. He remembered sitting in that same chamber with six brothers of the Holy Order. The last time he slept in West Watch, he was on his way to start a war.

He laid back down. It doesn’t matter, anymore.

“Augustus!”

Gus sat up in his bedding. His dagger weighed heavily in his hand. “What?”

The satyr stood in the doorway. “I heard screaming! Pixies are swarming the woods! We've got to do something!"

A shrill cry pierced the night–a woman.

“You take care of the pixies,” Gus said. “I’ll find the Moonlit Mysterium.”

“The what?” Padair asked.

“Never mind that–” Gus stood up and re-equipped his armament. A breeze circled the chamber, rustling the magical cloak that fell from his shoulders like a mystical veil. “Just convince the pixies that the dwarf didn’t mean any harm.” Padair nodded. “Go–now!” Gus waved the satyr away. Hooves pounded stone, and Padair bounded into the night. Pixies, satyrs, and witches… Gus walked outside and leaped high into the air. Crouching on the broken ring that topped West Watch, Augustus scanned the wooded hillsides. Soft blue pixie lights glowed, then faded away, weaving over and under branches, through and around trunks. You stirred up the entire forest, Gus mused. He listened for frantic shouting or frightful shrieks. Nothing. The pale blue lights were numerous, but scattered. Gus couldn’t decipher which cloud of pixies was chasing the singing lady, which one was chasing the bald dwarf, and which one was chasing Padair.

This is chaos. Gus pushed off the lip of the tower and soared into the air. His magic cloak carried him high. He cut through the sky, soaring over the hillside, shooting straight for the Western Road. A cloud of blinking lights streamed down the road, heading west. Gus flew toward them, staying high in the air.

With the cobbles beneath him, he spotted a black shadow sprinting over gray stones, and a stream of blue trailing behind. A tug of his cloak lowered him, and Gus made out the figure of a woman: long flowing hair and a loose flowing garment. Three lights blinked–just below him. Augustus flared his cloak, flying higher. He spun, turning like a top. The inner lining of his gray cloak shimmered silver. He was invisible. The lights blinked, closer still.

Damn! Gus flapped his cloak like a bat flapped its wings. He climbed higher, higher, and higher. The blinking lights grew smaller and smaller.

“Help!” the singer cried.

Gus tugged his cloak, descending. He sliced through the air, speeding by three pixies who sought to cut him off. Augustus dropped out of the sky at a break-neck speed. His feet thumped against the earth. Pain split his bones.

“Ah!” the woman shouted. She stopped dead in her tracks, just a few feet from him. A luminous blue cloud of pixies stormed behind her.

Gus stood tall. “Get down!”

Recognition lit up the singer’s eyes. She smiled. “You?”

“Down!” Gus shouted. “Now!” Gus flared his cloak just as the cloud of pixies engulfed the woman. He soared into the air and spun hard, flaring his cloak wide. The magical fabric weaved a vicious whirlwind. The vortex swept down the road, scattering pixies in every direction. The red-haired singer was knocked onto her back.

She scrambled to her feet, hair a mess. “What was that?”

“That was me saving you,” Gus said.

The scattered lights whirled and waned, but soon rejoined into a single cloud, blinking in and out of existence–pale blue. Come on, Padair! Gus watched the storm of pixies approach slowly this time–apprehensive.

Should I summon the satyr?

The pixies swirled. The blue cloud drew closer. Their fury was imminent. “Don’t look into their light!” the singer shouted.

Gus held his breath. He readied himself for the fight. He gazed into the glimmering cloud.

“Hey!” the woman shouted. Gus looked on but could not stop his feet. The pixie storm grew closer, while the woman grew further away. The light washed over him.

Gus woke beside a pile of charred wood and red embers, smoke swirling and wafting about. “So, you’re awake?” It was a woman’s voice. He blinked. She stared at him from across the dead fire.

What happened? He kept his silence.

“Augustus! Oh, Augustus!” another voice cried. The voice belonged to a man–a goat man with horns, fur, and hooved feet.

Gus rubbed his eyes. “What?”

The goat man patted his shoulder with a small furry hand. “I’m so glad you’re okay, my friend! The pixies got you good! Rose told me what happened!”

“What?” Augustus rubbed his head. “Pixies? Who’s Rose? Who are you? What are you?” The goat man stared him in the eyes with little rectangular blocks–the eyes of an animal, not a walking, talking, human! Nothing made sense. His heart pounded. He sat up. His head swam, forcing him back to the earth.

“Calm down,” the woman said.

“This is normal,” the goat added. “You breathed in a lot of pixie dust. Your memories will return. Just stay calm. Soon, you can eat some stew. Rose cooked it. It’s pretty good for human food, if a bit salty.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” the red-haired woman asked.

“No offense,” Padair assured. “It’s good for human food, which is the highest compliment I can offer!”

“I guess a thank you is in order, then?” Rose inquired.

“Nonsense,” Padair said. “You saved my friend, after all!”

“She saved me?” Augustus asked. That name didn’t place him well–it didn’t fit. What is my name? Does he know me better than myself?

“Rose created a cloud of dust that somehow neutralized the pixie spores. When I found her, she was draped over your body. She didn’t inhale as much pixie dust as you did, friend. You need rest.”

They camped by the Western Road for three days. The pixies never returned. Memories of the distant past floated across the seas of time while he sat ashore, watching them drift closer and closer. Phantom faces haunted him–ghosts with no names–friends, and enemies from a past life. He plucked them out of the water as they came to him, turning them over in his mind like a shell in his hand, studying every grain of sand that glistened across their surface. He had to go west–to the City of Chios. But first, to Gold Hill, then to Ottoburg, then the breadth of the West Duchies. On the second day, they began scouring the hills for the bald dwarf, but he never turned up. They hoped for the best; that he escaped into the night. On the third morning, two dwarves–a man and a woman–came into camp lugging a new wagon wheel. The fourth morning blessed them with a clear dawn and fair weather for travel. As Augustus readied himself, Rose approached. “Are you shoving off?” she asked.

“I think it’s time,” Gus said. “I’m mostly whole again.”

Rose chuckled. “I’ve spent most of my life running away from my memories. And, thanks to you, I’m still running.”

“Then run toward something, rather than away,” Gus said.

“Now, you two are sounding like a couple of philosophers!” Padair barged in, trotting over to them. “Let’s cut a trail, friend. We’ve been here long enough!”

“The last time we met, we were enemies,” Rose said. “Do you remember?” Gus nodded. He did. “If memories were all we had, then we’d still be at each other’s throats,” the red-haired woman informed.

“I suppose you have a point,” Gus admitted.

“Here’s another point–a thorn in my side, if you will,” Rose spoke as she folded her hands and breathed deeply. “Fingal was our bard—trained at the College of Chios. And now, well, he’s gone."

“What does that have to do with me?” Gus asked.

“I saw you carry a flute in one of your packs—” Rose said. “I didn't mean to snoop, but you were completely out of your mind, and I thought I might find something to jog your memory."

“You meant to rob me!” Gus accused.

“What’s all the commotion?” Skiggi, a black-haired dwarf, spoke up. He was a stout little man with swollen muscles.

“Nothing.” Rose shot the dwarf a cold glance, then turned her crystalline blue eyes back to Gus. “You’re heading to Ottoburg, right?”

“How’d you figure that one out?” Gus glared at Padair the Satyr.

“Sorry,” Padair shrugged. “She’s a friend.”

“Look, Gus, we’re heading the same way. And we need a musician. You could make some extra money on the side–and maybe a few friends along the way.” Rose walked up to him and held out her hand. “What do you say?”

Augustus eyed the woman and her dwarven companions. Whether friend or foe, how will they define me?